


Romantically In Business

by sullymygoodname



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Banter, Developing Relationship, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelings, Firsts, Jam Basket Exchange, M/M, Season 3, season 4, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/pseuds/sullymygoodname
Summary: Five Keys to Forming A Successful Business PartnershipExpectations: Start off with a clear understanding of what each of you contributes to, and needs from, the partnership.Shared Vision: Decide on a mission statement. Both of you must be on the same page with regards to direction and achievable goals.Communication: Be sure to check in regularly as the partnership grows over time and needs or expectations may change.Future Projections: Envision your long-term success and plan accordingly.Trust & Support: A partnership should feel equal. Identify and utilize the strengths of each partner, and support the partnership's limitations. You must be able to rely on each other.Starting something new, something you've never done before, can be daunting. It helps to find the right partner.An exploration of their relationship from beginning to... well, not end. Spoilers through the end of season 5. (Nothing from s6.)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 97
Kudos: 399





	Romantically In Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigficenergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigficenergy/gifts).



> My contribution to the Jam Basket Exchange. I'm sorry it took me 6 months to finish this!
> 
> I started out trying to write a 5+1 fic, which I've never done and I failed at spectacularly. But I kept the format anyway and here we are. I hope you like it!

* * *

**Five Keys to Forming A Successful Business Partnership**

  1. Expectations: Start off with a clear understanding of what each of you contributes to, and needs from, the partnership. 
  2. Shared Vision: Decide on a mission statement. Both of you must be on the same page with regards to direction and achievable goals. 
  3. Communication: Be sure to check in regularly as the partnership grows over time and needs or expectations may change. 
  4. Future Projections: Envision your long-term success and plan accordingly. 
  5. Trust & Support: A partnership should feel equal. Identify and utilize the strengths of each partner, and support the partnership's limitations. You must be able to rely on each other. 



* * *

**{1. Expectations}**

"Oh, I'm gonna get the money."

A sweet, hot thrill reverberates through David's body at that, at the words, at the tone, at Patrick's very determined face.

"Okay," he says, or tries to, his voice temporarily startled into hiding. Patrick extends his hand; an offer, an invitation. David takes it, and they shake on the agreement. Patrick's palm is dry, but smooth. His fingers are thick, and blunt, and worn with calluses, but otherwise unmarred.

The newly acquired, yet-to-be-assembled credit card reader slips in David's arms, and he releases Patrick's hand quickly to spill everything all over the cash counter. He can still feel Patrick standing beside him, the air warm and thick with his presence.

"So, did you need any more help, uh, right now?" asks Patrick. He moves in closer, right by David's shoulder, and points to the pieces of machinery scattered across the surface before them. "It looks like that might be giving you some trouble."

"No. I just need to hook this thing... to this other... thing," David says, holding a cable in one hand and a... _thing_ in the other. He doesn't look at Patrick. He doesn't know why Patrick is still here. Things were going much more quickly, and smoothly, without Alexis in the store today, even if David has no idea how this thing works. Alexis probably would. She has all kinds of secret knowledge sometimes.

Patrick probably knows how to make this work, too. Patrick seems the knowledgeable type. He knows how to get grant money, and how to file applications, and... and...

David turns to him now. "Okay, I don't know how this works," he says, and he means the... thing, but he also means everything. Why did he ever think he could run a business by himself? Why does _Patrick_ think he can run a business? _Does_ Patrick think that? Obviously he's here because he knows David needs help.

Patrick is still standing here, watching him, with his _face_ making that face. It's like a laugh that only happens in the eyes. He takes the big thing from David's hand. His fingers are warm on David's skin.

"Well, let's see if we can figure this out," Patrick says, sliding the cable out of David's other hand.

 _I'm not here for your sister,_ echoes in David's head while Patrick works. But why would he have spent all afternoon moving boxes, if not for Alexis? Alexis said he's either _married or gay_. He's not wearing any rings, but that doesn't always mean anything. Is he flirting?

David used to be good at this, didn't he? He's been living in this town for too long, he can't even tell if a cute guy is flirting with him or not. He's not, right? He's probably not. He's just a business... person. Who likes business. He's flirting with the business, that's all.

"All right, I think I got it," Patrick says, and the proud little smile on his face is too cute to even look at so David moves to the other side of the counter.

"All connected," he says, tapping the card reader monitor. "But does it work?"

"We should test it." Patrick moves around the counter, as well, and stands right next to David. "Do you have a card we can run through?"

"Sadly, I do not." David taps his fingers along the counter this time, casually moving away and back around to the other side again.

It's still not flirting. Patrick is just being helpful. He's very helpful for the rest of the afternoon. He tests out the whole cash register setup himself, and is rewarded with the satisfying _ding!_ of the cash drawer opening. He grins across the room at David and pushes the drawer back in with an equally satisfying _shunk_. He moves on to unpacking boxes and setting products out on the long table in the center of the room.

"Does this need to be refrigerated?"

"Um, that is body milk?"

"Yes, that's what the label says." Patrick holds the bottle up, turning it over in his hands. "I'm guessing from your face that I can't drink it?"

"Why—why would you want to drink it?"

"It says it's _milk_ , David. People are probably going to think that."

"It's not—people don't—it is _moisturizer_ , for your _skin_. Nobody will—who would—anyone with a _fibre_ of common sense would know that it's not actually _milk_!"

David lowers his hands, both holding pots of eucalyptus eye serum and it would be really bad if he accidentally flung them across the room and right through the glass of the front windows. Patrick's head is bowed, face turned away, but not enough that David can't see the soft curve of his lips and the tiny dimple just at the corner there. It reminds him of the day they met and the way Patrick had tried to hide his laughter behind his hand. Then David remembers the voicemails and wants to disappear into this very floor all over again.

"Okay, so not in the refrigerator then. Where does this go?" Patrick asks, gesturing to the bottles all set out on the table.

"Oh. Um. Well, I haven't—" David gazes around the space, still cluttered and disorganized. He's started grouping products together, but hasn't decided on definite placements yet. "We have to create the proper flow," he says decisively.

"The flow," Patrick repeats, less decisively.

"Yes. When you walk into a shop, you should be able to find exactly what you're looking for, and also be enticed by the products surrounding it. You _flow_ from one section to the next," David explains, demonstrating with his hands, and his whole body, fluidly moving from the front corner of the store and around the table. "Fulfilling all of your needs until you end up at the cash. Where you see these lip balms—" he picks up the small box of lip balms, just now deciding that this is where they'll go, "—and you say, 'yes, I need this, too.' Then you pay, and head straight on out the door," he finishes with a little shooing motion.

Patrick traces a circle around the room with his eyes, nodding like he can see it, too. "That makes sense. That's actually very savvy." He looks back to David, soft lips curving ever so wickedly, and holds up the bottle of body milk still in his hand. "So, where does this go?"

David opens his mouth. Shuts it. Takes a breath. Then says, "I haven't decided yet."

Except, while detailing the proper flow of a shop to Patrick, David thinks maybe he has decided. He ignores Patrick's face, his bright eyes and the way he tucks his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing, and takes the body milk right out of Patrick's hands. He goes directly to the hutch on the back wall. And stares.

He feels Patrick slowly step up beside him, then just stand there until David looks over at him. He has his arms crossed over his chest and that not-a-smile on his face, and suddenly David knows exactly how to do this. The words come rapidly, spilling out of David's mouth as he walks Patrick through the product groupings, the flow of the merchandise and shopping experience, the overall vibe the aesthetic of the store should create, and Patrick follows. He blinks, he nods, he puts things where David tells him, and he keeps up with David's energy. The only comments Patrick makes are "yeah" and "okay" and after they've gotten the entire back wall sorted out David worries that he should maybe be asking for Patrick's opinion on things. He also worries that Patrick might have incorrect opinions. He decides to ask anyway.

Standing in front of the cash counter, examining that wall of the store, David says, "Do you think we need to switch the cooler and the apothecary cabinet? Can you move those around?"

Patrick stares at him for a moment, then goes to the front of the store and points at the cabinet. "Do you mean this seven foot tall, four foot wide, solid wood display shelf?"

"The apothecary cabinet, yes."

"I don't know, David," Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest again and leaning against the counter by David's side. "That sounds like a job for the creative department, which we've established is not my area."

"Okay," David says, mirroring Patrick's pose, "well I'm really more of the creative director, directing my... laborer?"

"You mean an employee?" Patrick tips his head to one side. "You know, you're technically not paying me yet."

"Well then why are you here?" David throws his hands up, but immediately regrets the outburst, and backs away, cringing internally. And probably outwardly, as well. "I just meant," he says, softly, glancing at Patrick, "you don't _have_ to be here. You know. I'm—I'm sure you have other places to be and... paperwork to do."

Standing up straight (and, oh, David misses the casual leaning), Patrick says, "I actually—I do have another, uh, appointment today." His arms are still folded over his chest, but he drops them fumblingly to his sides like he's forgotten what hands are supposed to do. "So, I should probably go. To that."

"Yes. Good. You should. Do that. And I will see you tomorrow." At the slow climb of Patrick's eyebrows and soft curl of his lips, David panics. "Or whatever. Whenever, I mean. Or not. It's not like I'm _expecting_ you to come tomorrow. I mean, here. To be here—"

"David." And Patrick's face is making that _face_ again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"O-okay."

"And, really," Patrick says, backing toward the door. "I'm happy to help."

He watches Patrick leave, the door closing gently behind him. Watches Patrick pause on the sidewalk out front for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. Watches Patrick ultimately turn right and then disappear from view.

The space around David is in much better order than it had been just a few hours ago. Not perfect, not yet, but getting there. Patrick actually had helped quite a bit. More than he'd needed to. More than anyone else would have done, being paid or not. Patrick had actually stood in this room and listened to David ramble about color theory for at _least_ forty-seven minutes. _Why?_

"Okay, I feel like you're not understanding the issue here," David says, raising his voice over the loud industrial dryer in the motel's laundry room.

"You wanted to do this all on your own, without assistance from your parents, or a safety net, or training wheels, because you're a big boy." Stevie only looks up at him at the last part.

David glares.

She shrugs and goes back to folding sheets. "I get that part, I guess."

There's more. He knows there's more. Steeling himself with a deep breath, David asks, "But?"

She finishes the fitted sheet she's folding (David still doesn't tell her she's doing it wrong) and piles it onto a clear surface beside the stacks of folded pillowcases. When she looks up at him again, her face is more serious.

"I've had to do _everything_ on my own, David." She grabs a flat sheet, running the edges between her fingers until she finds the corners. David feels like he should offer assistance here. "The motel was left to me, but..." Stevie sighs, her hair swaying with a tiny shake of her head. "It's okay to ask for help sometimes. It's okay to accept it. I did. I am."

Exasperated with her fumbling, David reaches down and plucks up the other two corners of the sheet. "This is different," he tells her as they shake the sheet out together and coordinate their folding.

"Why?"

David smoothes out the wrinkles as they go, making the edges of each fold nice and crisp, until eventually their hands come together and they have a nice, neat little package. It ends up in his hands as Stevie takes a step back, looking up at him, waiting for an answer. David clutches the little bundle in front of his chest.

"I don't know what he wants."

Stevie takes the sheet from him and places it on top of the ineptly folded fitted sheet. "I think he was pretty up front about that. From what you told me. Not like I was there," she says, gathering up the individual stacks and dropping them into the large laundry basket. "But if _some guy_ just offers to help you run your business, I think that means he likes—" she holds his gaze again, "—your business."

Business. Business. Maybe Patrick is just a generous person. An actual guy who is _nice_. Someone who doesn't need selfish reasons for doing things. It doesn't matter if he's cute.

It's just a business relationship.

Maybe even... a friendship.

**{2. Shared Vision}**

It's more than a friendship.

"Are you regretting the mozzarella sticks yet?" It's not a serious question. He can tell now, because Patrick's face is serious, his mouth an even line. But his eyes... his _eyes_.

"Mm," David replies, studiously pursing his lips to keep them under control. "That depends on how the rest of the night goes."

There's a pause, a silence hanging over the table and the crumbs on their plates. David glances back up to see Patrick's composure slip, just for a second, a naked, almost helpless look on his face.

Patrick blinks, the teasing curl of lips returning. "Oh?"

"I mean, um." David closes his eyes, gathering himself. "What—what did you have in mind for the evening?"

"Well." Patrick waits until he has David's eyes on him again. "I figured I'd pay the bill, and then..." He leans across the table into David's space. "I thought I might drive you home."

A drop of disappointment descends through David's chest, but the way Patrick is looking at him — his _eyes_ — buoys hope back up. He's almost certain those eyes were half-fixed on David's mouth. A second then gone, but he's certain. He's ninety-three percent certain.

Patrick slips out of the booth to go pay at the counter. He puts a hand over David's — warm, solid — when David plays like he's going for a wallet that he is not even carrying, and says, "It's your birthday, David."

David maintains eye contact for as long as he can stand it — roughly three and a half seconds — before dropping his eyes back to the table and the surprisingly smooth, rolling hills of Patrick's knuckles. His touch slides away, leaving David's skin hot-cold in its wake.

Though partially hidden by Patrick's ill-fitting jacket, David takes the opportunity to get another peek at that ass in those tight jeans. He's still staring while Patrick chats with Twyla, and hastily averts his gaze when they both look over in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, David can just see Patrick's soft, little smile. And the pink on his cheeks.

On the way out, Patrick holds the door open for David and walks with him — not leading or guiding, no rush in his steps, but amiably side-by-side — to his unassuming, sensible, blue sedan. Of course it's blue. 

He reaches around David to open the door for him here, too. It brings them close, and David does his best not to lean too far in. Not yet.

"Perhaps on our second date," he says, Patrick's face so temptingly close to his, "we can try the _Coconutty Onion Rings_."

The words float between them in the stillness of the night, Patrick's eyes locked on his, no way of guessing what's going on behind them. Holding his breath, David remains very still.

Patrick's lips twitch, his eyes alight. "Oh, are we going on a second date?"

David's mouth opens — to say what, he doesn't know — but no sound comes out.

"Because we should probably just go all out, get the full _Tropical Platter_ ," Patrick says, with his hand still on the door poised to open it. "That seems like a second date thing."

"Mm." David nods, biting his lips together. "But can we really call it a second date when not everyone was aware of the first date?"

"Perhaps we should ask Stevie. She seemed... aware."

And yes, _there_. Patrick's eyes definitely drop to David's mouth again. If Patrick doesn't kiss him by the end of the night, David is taking matters into his own hands.

**{3. Communication}**

The kissing is very good. Whatever else Patrick might have been doing with himself these past thirty-something years, he very much has mastered kissing. They kiss in cars, and around corners, in the store, and Ray's kitchen. They kiss in doorways and out in the open. They kiss hello and they kiss goodnight. Patrick kisses him everywhere. And David feels... content. Kissing for the sake of kissing is sort of a new concept for him. Maybe not really, but it feels like it; it feels like fresh, unexplored territory. When Patrick kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, in his car or on Ray's doorstep, or here in the stockroom after hours, David isn't expecting it to lead anywhere. It doesn't _need_ to become something else.

Not that he's at all disappointed when it does.

With his back pressed into the cool, painted brick, and one leg hitched up around Patrick's hips, this is the most heated they've gotten in the almost two weeks that they've been dating. Seeing each other? Making out? Dating. They've gone on actual dates. David can call it dating.

Patrick's hands are under David's sweater, greedy mouth on his neck, shuddering breath against David's sweat-slick skin, and David is burning up from the inside. His tight pants are getting tighter, and he can feel Patrick swelling, too. David almost wants to slow it down again, dropping one hand to Patrick's smoothly rolling hips, but ends up moving with him instead. No, he doesn't want to slow down, he doesn't want to stop. "Don't stop."

David's unsure if he said that aloud or if he made any sound at all, but Patrick responds all the same with a low, guttural whine. He slides one hand under David's thigh, clutching it tighter, higher around his stuttering hips, mouth latched onto David's neck. It escalates from _good so good_ to _not enough_ to _oh fuck_ and Patrick driving David almost painfully into the wall until— 

Patrick gasps, hot and shivery, sending thrills down David's spine, hips pushing in _hard_ , his whole body seizing up and trembling in David's arms. After a long, breathless, fragile moment, he lowers his head to rest on David's shoulder, eyelashes tickling David's neck, ragged breaths puffing down the collar of David's sweater. His fingers are still digging into the meat of David's thigh, bruising and pleasant, and his acrobatic hips give one last little graceless jerk.

David has one hand at Patrick's hip, and the other cupped around the back of Patrick's head. He curls his fingers inward and pulls gently at the short hairs above Patrick's shirt collar, waiting for his hammering heartbeat to calm down. Their bodies are molded together and David is using every ounce of willpower he possesses to keep still. It's... hard.

Slowly, Patrick's fingers relax, releasing his grip on David's leg. David lets it fall back down to the floor, catching along the ridges and seams of Patrick's belt and jeans. The hand that had been clutching David's leg now rests tentatively on his waist, and Patrick is still hiding his face in David's neck, breathing heavily, utterly wordless.

Turning his head just so, David grazes Patrick's cheek with his own. Patrick's breath hitches, his fingers clenching tight around David's waist, and he makes a tiny, strangled, beautiful noise. David bites his lips between his teeth, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. He has never, in his life, felt so very _fond_ of someone.

"That was hot," he whispers, lips just brushing the outer edge of Patrick's ear.

Another strangled noise and an incredulous sort of laugh escape Patrick. "How?" he asks, muffled against David's sweater.

David tries to pull back and look at him, but there's barely enough room to even move his head. "Someone being so turned on by me that they can't control themselves?" he says into Patrick's hair. "Oh, no, you're right, how could I possibly take that as a compliment."

This, at least, elicits a real laugh, quiet and genuine. "You definitely should."

David likes the way Patrick feels against his body; the way the surprisingly silky soft fabric of Patrick's plain, cotton shirt is cool across his back and shoulders until warmed by David's hands. "Next time, maybe we'll even get out of our clothes," he says, running his hands slowly up and down Patrick's back.

"Next time, huh?" Patrick leans away to look at him, face flushed and eyes bright.

"Or—the time after," David rushes to say. "As many times as you need. Or never. It's fine." His hand seems to flip around in the air of its own accord, nearly smacking Patrick in the face. Patrick reaches up and encircles David's wrist with his fingers, bringing that unpredictable hand down safely between them.

"David. Shhh," Patrick breathes into his skin, kissing David's knuckles lightly before guiding his hand back to Patrick's hip. Then he leans in and places his mouth onto David's neck, wet and open, just holding there. "You smell so good."

"Oh." David shivers. He has no idea what his own face must look like right now, but he's glad it's dark in here and that Patrick isn't looking at him anymore. "It's the new Mennonite cedar-lemon-verbena cologne. I thought I'd try it out, but I'm not sure—" 

"No," Patrick interrupts him, nosing behind David's ear and inhaling deeply. "It's you."

"Okay," David whispers, drawing in a sharp breath as Patrick sucks on his neck again. Patrick's hands move up under his sweater, fingers lightly skimming over his bare skin, and David has not forgotten how hard he still is after what just happened. And how thinking about that is not... alleviating the situation at all. "Aren't—aren't you a little uncomfortable? In your pants? After—"

"Aren't you?" Patrick slides his hand down David's stomach, scraping his nails through the hair, and down, down, cupping David through his pants. "Do we really have to wait until next time?"

He bucks involuntarily into Patrick's hand, and how embarrassing is it that he feels like _he_ could come in his pants right now, too? (Which would be unacceptable. These are his favorite _Givenchy_ pre-fall 2013 collection, and he will probably never be able to afford their like again.) But the heat and pressure of Patrick's hand is also _very_ good.

"I suppose," David says, biting at his bottom lip to keep his smile in check, "we really should get you out of those messy jeans."

And Patrick is laughing, already fumbling with their buttons and zippers.

The next time, they do get out of all of their clothes. And the time after that. And a few more times after that. After that first night at Stevie's, time alone and space are both distressingly scarce, but they're making it work. Like this Monday afternoon when the store is closed and there's nobody in the motel and Stevie tosses David the key to room **2** , with the caveat that he clean up and launder all of the bedding afterward.

They've only got approximately one more hour before someone will be wondering where David is. He never wishes to rush this, he wants to take all the time in the world with Patrick, but he also wants to come before they might be interrupted. They've talked about all sorts of things they'd like to do to each other, and they've made out hot and heavy and clothed and naked, and Patrick was very keen when giving his first blowjob. And his second. And he pulled out a new trick on the third.

 _Patrick_ was the one who bought lube (expensive, he must have done some research) and placed the bottle in David's hand and said, "I want you to..." and stuttered adorably and trailed off, his eyes downcast, lashes splashing shadows across his scarlet cheeks.

So David laid down one of the bigger motel towels across the bed and now here he is with his mouth full of cock and his middle finger in Patrick's ass. Above him on the bed, Patrick is panting with his hand fisted in David's hair. He's babbling, curses and praise, uttering David's name over and over. David soothes him with more tongue and Patrick bucks up into David's mouth. David lines up his index finger along his middle and presses them both inside.

"Oh fuck, David!" Patrick gasps, pushing down against David's hand, his thighs quivering. "No, no, no, fuck!"

Through a haze, the words filter to David's ears. Slowly, he pulls his mouth off Patrick's cock and lifts his head to peer up at him. "No?"

Patrick's eyes slowly open to peer blearily at David, his voice is scratchy and thick. "What?"

"You said 'no'?"

"I..." Patrick blinks, breathing hard, face flushed, his fingers still clutching at David's hair. "Did I? I didn't mean... I didn't mean no. You can ignore the 'no's right now." He rocks his hips, working himself on David's fingers, and David is inclined to believe him, but...

Patrick notices his hesitation, and must understand it for what it is. "If I want you to stop, I'll say stop," he says, letting David's hair slip through his fingers and petting it back away from David's forehead.

"You'll remember to say 'stop'?" He has to be sure. Patrick needs to be sure.

"Yes." He keeps petting David's hair, curling his hand around the shell of his ear. "Everything else—you can ignore everything coming out of my mouth, I swear."

"I literally can't."

"David, I don't want you to stop." He moves his hips again. "Please." His voice hitches and his eyes flutter shut and David can't ignore that either. He crooks his fingers just so and Patrick's head falls back against the pillow. "Yes. Okay? Yes. Thank you, David."

Bending his head back down, David stops to grab Patrick's hand and place it in his hair. "You can—you can keep doing that." Patrick tries to pet his hair again, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated now. "No, no, I meant—"

"Oh." He weaves his fingers through David's hair and grips.

"Yes, like that." They lock eyes. With his free hand, David reaches for Patrick's cock, but goes no further. He keeps staring, challenging. As he starts to draw away, Patrick clenches his fist, pulling David's hair harder. This time David's eyes flutter closed.

"You want this?" Patrick asks, and David nods. "You want _this_?" Patrick asks again, forcing David's head up. He opens his eyes to find Patrick angling his cock up with his other hand, and David just nods again. Tightening his grip, Patrick drags him forward and David's mouth falls open, taking him in gratefully. "Yes, David. Suck me. Please."

His hips start rocking again, down onto David's fingers and up into his mouth. Patrick's words become a ceaseless string of unintelligible nonsense until he's yanking on David's hair and coming down David's throat.

After, Patrick jacks him off all over the both of them, and then helps David with the laundry.

The kissing, the sex — it's all going... very well. Very, very well. Seeing each other every single day, working side by side, playfully bickering over product displays and order forms, and David isn't bored of it yet. Brushing past each other behind the cash counter, meeting in the stock room, the way Patrick's hands always find their way to David's hips, he doesn't seem bored of David yet, either. Every touch still feels exhilarating. Every smile, or sly remark, still sends a thrill up David's spine. Even though they spend all day and most evenings together, the moments when they are apart are filled with giddy anticipation. It's all so good, David can't stand it.

One morning, Patrick comes into the store from the cafe with their usual drink orders and a paper bag that smells of cinnamon. David is just finishing ringing up the last of a slew of customers, and when she leaves they are blissfully alone.

"Your coffee," Patrick says, handing it over with a quick _hello_ kiss, "and a little something extra." He reaches into the bag and pulls out an apple cinnamon streusel muffin with a single black and white striped candle sticking out of the top.

"Still trying to guess my age?" David tries to side-eye Patrick, but the muffin is too enticing. His fingers wriggle toward it, itching to pick off bits of the crumbly topping. "You're getting closer, but my birthday was last month."

"I know." Patrick pulls an actual book of matches out of his jeans pocket, strikes one, and lights the candle. "It was exactly one month ago."

David can only stare into the flame as Patrick pushes the muffin across the counter toward him. One month. One _whole_ month? A month is such a... measurable length of time. Everything still feels new and fun and exciting; how can a month have passed already?

"What is this?" David asks after a moment, barely finding his voice. It comes out high and splintered.

"It's a muffin, David." At the look David sends him, Patrick laughs and says, "And it's our one month-iversary."

"That's not a word."

"Oh, so you don't want the muffin?" Patrick's smirking, but his ears have gone pink and his eyes are looking just to the side of David's shoulder. His fingers are drumming almost silently on the counter and the flame on the candle seems to be dancing to their nervous rhythm.

"Of course I want it." Wrapping thumb and forefinger around the base, David pulls the muffin toward himself. "This is... very sweet."

The smirk on Patrick's face grows wider. "David. Blow out the candle."

Curling his lips, David bends forward, but then stops and looks up at Patrick. "Um, should we—should we both do it?" 

"Sure." Patrick's smirking lips purse as he bends forward, too. "Quickly before we set off the smoke alarm."

Together they blow out the little, sputtering flame. David peels the paper wrapper off the muffin, plucks the candle out, and folds it away in the discarded crinkly paper. He starts picking pieces off the top of the muffin to pop into his mouth, but at the last second his hand changes trajectory. Patrick's eyes, always so expressive, widen a fraction before going soft. He opens his mouth and lets David in, tongue peeking out and lips skimming over David's fingers. As David draws his hand back, Patrick follows, leaning far over the counter. He ends up leaving crumbs on both of their mouths.

"Thank you," Patrick says against David's lips, before pulling back. "So, the muffin was a great idea." Smirk back in place, he picks up his own tea and takes a sip.

"Okay, this is not going to become a thing."

It does become a thing.

At two months, Patrick actually says, "Happy two month-iversary," and hands over a long, thin, wrapped package.

"I told you that's not a word," David says, but his hands reach for the matte black wrappings and start tearing almost before the words are out of his mouth.

It's a plain white, flat box the length of David's forearm and he sort of hopes it isn't jewelry because who can predict what Patrick's tastes are like, he can't even imagine at this point. With the barest hint of trepidation, David lifts the lid to reveal— 

"What—what is it?" It's a plastic stick, is what it is.

"You use it to unclog the tub drain," Patrick tells him with a perfectly straight face so at least David knows this is a joke now. "You can share it with Alexis since it's mostly her hair, but I assume she won't use it because you're the one complaining and she thinks it's funny."

Very precisely, David sets the box down onto the stockroom workbench. "Okay. This is the worst and most disgusting gift anyone has ever given me, and I'm including the time Perez Hilton sent me a box of personalized condoms with his face on them." He points a finger at Patrick's nose. "And I would never, before you even think it, I absolutely did not."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Patrick says, "and I don't know who that is."

"Lucky." His eyes fall back to the open box. Unfortunately, it is still what it is. "So, I thought we said a firm 'no' to all of... this," he says, waving his hand around to indicate all of this.

"This?"

David's eyes narrow because Patrick knows exactly what he means. "Monthly... acknowledgements."

He really needs Patrick to stop keeping track because if Patrick keeps track then _David_ has to keep track and at some point it will no longer be marking milestones. It will be a countdown.

But Patrick is smiling now, is stepping around the boxes on the floor waiting to be unpacked, is leaning up to kiss David on the cheek. "You don't have to keep it. I just thought it was something useful that you would never dream of buying for yourself."

"Well that is factually... accurate."

Taking a box from the stack, Patrick turns around and heads through into the store, calling over his shoulder, "You're welcome, David."

He glares at Patrick's backside until it completely disappears from view. Yes, glaring. Is what he does. The long box with the _thing_ sits on the bench before him. Long and stick-y and plastic and... Gross. This is all very gross. But it's not a real gift, so maybe it's okay. It's just—it's funny. It's a funny thing. A joke about how Patrick tried to celebrate a _month-iversary_ — David shudders — and now they can both laugh about it. David can laugh about this little box that Patrick had meticulously wrapped in quality paper. He can laugh about how Patrick actually listened to him rant about Alexis's horrifying hairballs all over the bathroom. He listened and he remembered and he bought David a revolting tool to fix it.

David covers his face with his hands because he can feel it doing something terrible. Taking deep breaths, he tries to center himself. He quickly closes the lid over the box and looks around the stockroom for a place to stash it. Or perhaps he can give it to his dad. His dad will love thinking he can fix things, and then possibly David won't have to stand ankle-deep in used shower water surrounded by Alexis's sheddings. He looks down at the neat little box in his hands. Patrick had picked out a _gift box_ , and surrounded this repulsive, useful object with tissue paper, and wrapped it up so very carefully because he is a troll, and— 

"I forgot to mention."

"What?!" David whirls around to see Patrick peering around the edge of the open curtain. He looks down at the box in David's hands. "Um."

"I was going to tell you," Patrick says, stepping fully into the room, "that it's poker night."

"You play poker?"

"No. Ray plays poker. At Bob's. The games can apparently go on for hours. Long into the night. Sometimes, according to Ray, he doesn't make it home until well after ten o'clock. Midnight, if he's doing well. He asked if I'd like to join them, but I thought a night in with the house to myself might be nice."

"O-oh." The box twists in David's hands and he has to set it down again before he crushes it. "That sounds... interesting."

"He leaves at seven."

Generally, David doesn't allow the citizens of this town to occupy his mind, especially when he's engaged in far more pleasurable activities, but he spares a thankful thought for Bob and wishes all the luck in the world right now to Ray. Poker nights are David's favorite nights. Ray's nights out are so infrequent, and he's usually home by nine, so David is very grateful that Bob has reinstated the weekly poker night. And if Ray hits a winning streak (rare) he and Patrick can have hours. Hours and _hours_. Alone together. In a bed. (It's getting late, so Ray must be doing well tonight.)

Lying on his side, riding the lingering high after really good sex, boneless and delirious, David tries to catch his breath, but Patrick keeps coming in for another kiss. And another. He rolls into David's body, both hands on David's face, kissing him vigorously and just grinning the whole time.

"Mm," David murmurs, lips going numb. "I don't—I don't think I can go again."

"Okay," Patrick says against his lips and keeps kissing him.

"I mean—mmm—I really don't think I can..." He tries to imply _'get hard again'_ without having to say it, or stop kissing. Patrick seems to grasp the concept.

"Yeah, me neither," he says, pressing himself more firmly against David's body, mapping the topography of David's skin with his mouth. David relaxes into it, practically melting into the lumpy mattress and flat pillows on Patrick's bed. Patrick pulls back suddenly, staring down at him. "Oh. Are—are you tired? Do you want to sleep now? You can sleep here. Ray still isn't home yet, and when he gets back late he usually goes right past my door without peeking in."

"Usually?"

"And he'll sleep in tomorrow." Patrick props himself up on one elbow, but he's still leaning into David's space, their bodies melding together with sticky sweat, his lips brushing along David's jaw.

"Mmhmm."

"Yeah," Patrick breathes into his neck, sucking and biting gently. "He'll get up at eight instead of seven. Maybe eight-thirty."

"We have different definitions of sleeping in." David turns his head until he can find Patrick's mouth with his, pushing back a little. Patrick brings his arm around David, tucking the sheet down against his side, and starts to settle his head on David's shoulder. Patrick is heavy and warm against him. He's beautiful and smiling with his eyes closed and he wants this. David measures his breathing, curls his fingers into a loose fist to stop himself from plucking at the sheets. 

After a long moment, Patrick asks, "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"David."

"It's—I'm—there's—" David groans, pulling both of his arms free and covering his face with his hands. "I just... I can't. I can't sleep like _this_ ," he says, gesturing to their bodies that are starting to feel glued together. "It's one thing to fall asleep all sweaty and disgusting after sex when it's still hot and you're exhausted, but when I _sleep_ sleep, I need clean clothing and a freshly made bed. And _this_ just won't—I can't, I'm sorry, I—"

"David—"

"And a shower! I need to shower before I can go to bed properly."

"David, it's fine." Patrick is leaning away from him now and David regrets it all, he misses that warmth and that weight. Who cares if they're living, breathing swamps right now? Oh, no. No. David cares. He cares! "I should shower, too," Patrick says, and here it is, he's going to tell David to just go now. "We can shower, change into _clean_ pajamas, and remake the bed."

"Wh—"

"With clean sheets." Patrick is smiling down at him again, but his watchful eyes betray a cautious sort of hope. "I just want you to stay."

"Oh." David blinks up at him. "I... I have a change of clothes in my bag?" He always carries an extra outfit; he learned that lesson back in college.

"You can borrow a set of pajamas if you want," Patrick offers, but David assures him that his spare clothes are fine. He'd packed a _Rick Owens_ sweatshirt and pants combo, for maximum comfort. Patrick leans down and kisses him, just a soft press of lips. "You shower first while I take care of the bed."

They kiss for just a little while longer, but time is running out and David needs to be in and out of the shower before Ray appears. Patrick's shelf in the bathroom is stocked with products from the store. David notes that they are all the ones he'd recommended. He can't help but smile at that.

After a very truncated version of his nightly skincare routine (It's fine, he'll just go back to the motel in the morning for damage control on his face.) he goes back to the bedroom and finds Patrick sitting on the end of the freshly made bed in just his little blue plaid boxer shorts. He's very cute.

He stands as David approaches and leans in close, running his nose along David's jaw. "I'll be right back."

While Patrick is in the shower, David prevaricates by the side of the bed. He looks for a place to stash his overnight bag, although it's not a full overnight bag because he hadn't planned a full overnight stay. He ends up tucking it partially under the bed on his side.

 _His side._ Is this his side? It's closest to the door, which he doesn't love, but farther from the south-facing window letting in the early morning light. This is just the side he happened to be on. Maybe Patrick has a preferred side? David... doesn't. He doesn't think. He's shared a bed with people before, obviously, but never quite so. Deliberately.

When he hears the bathroom door across the hall open, he dives into the bed and pulls the blankets up to his chest. If Patrick wants this side of the bed, David will move. Maybe.

Patrick walks in wearing a white t-shirt and a different pair of boxer briefs — plain black. He's very cute. He closes the door and switches off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp to illuminate the room. David watches Patrick watching him as he crosses to his side of the bed and climbs in. It's like Patrick can't take his eyes off David; he barely looks away to turn off the lamp. Under the covers, they lie facing each other, bodies curved toward one another. Patrick moves closer, sliding his hand up over David's hip and around to the small of his back, and leans in for a soft kiss.

"Goodnight, David."

David is used to people saying his name as though mentally replacing it with another word. Where _David_ could sound like _fool_ or _trash_ or _really just too much_. But on Patrick's tongue it is a revelation. He makes _David_ sound divine, like a miracle or a holy prayer. He kisses Patrick again, tucks his face into Patrick's neck and inhales the sweet scent of his skin, hiding his unrestrained joy safely in the space between them.

"Goodnight, Patrick."

At three months, Patrick gives him a large, basic, white coffee mug with the words ' **WORLD'S OKAYEST BOYFRIEND** ' on it in eye-searing orange block letters. It's hideous, and unwieldy even in David's hands. He hides it in the stockroom, refusing to drink out of it, but it sits on the window sill above the work bench, slowly filling up with all the pens that he loses around the store. David sees it there, every day, garish letters catching his eye every time he enters or leaves the room.

Patrick is his _boyfriend_.

The four-month gift is the only one unveiled in front of other people and the less said about that the better.

But the gifts keep coming. The bottle of wine that Patrick sends to him and Stevie at the hotel is just the first. There are flowers waiting for David on the table in his room when he comes back from the spa trip. The note (opened, _thank you, Alexis!_ ) reads: **Take as much time as you need. I'm here when you're ready.** ❤ (Patrick had already texted and said he'd take care of the store. So, really, the flowers are just... extra.)

Then the day after that, Stevie texts David to come to the lobby where she is picking through the box of chocolates from Meghan, the chocolatier that they've been trying to court as a new vendor. David wonders why Meghan would send these to the motel (she already knows he wants them) until he sees another note: **I think I remembered all of your favorites. Let me know if I missed any?** 💛 - Patrick

David stares at the note for so long that he barely slaps Stevie's hand away in time to get the dark chocolate raspberry truffle. "These are not _your_ favorites!"

When the bracelet arrives, David really doesn't know what to do. He didn't call Patrick to thank him for the flowers or the chocolates. He'd wanted to, but David has never been in this situation before. How should this conversation even go? That night at the spa with Stevie was the last time he talked with Patrick at all, and only via text message, and only to confirm that the wine was very good and that he would be staying at the spa all day. He takes the bracelet out of the box and clasps it around his wrist. He needn't have worried about Patrick's taste in jewelry; it's perfect. There are flowers again, as well, and the note this time reads, simply: 💘

Making up turns out to be the easy part.

Talking takes more effort.

"I didn't want to know," David whispers, cozy in Patrick's bed, tucked in close, facing each other with the blankets pulled up to their ears. "And I didn't want to talk, either. About me, or my past, or... any of it."

"But we should have."

"You don't owe me that, though. Your past. As lo—" David takes a deep breath. "As long as it's _in_ the past."

"It is. It definitely is. David—"

"Okay," David rushes to move past it. "Then we're back and... let's never do that again."

"I'm not sure we can promise never to argue. But. David, you said you'd never been in this situation before. Neither have I." Patrick inches closer — they're basically sharing one pillow at this point — and winds his arm more securely around David's waist. "I've had other relationships, sure, and I've been broken up with. But it's never felt like that before. Like I—like I couldn't move. I didn't know what I'd do if—"

David makes shushing noises and leans in to kiss Patrick's lips. "I'm sorry that I took so long."

"You don't need to apologize." Patrick kisses him back. "Your olive branch more than made up for the _agonizing_ time apart," he says against David's lips, the curve of his mouth a familiar and intoxicating smirk.

"Like I said," David murmurs, "let's never do that again."

"Okay," Patrick agrees readily this time, barely audible and muffled between their mouths. They fall asleep like that, entirely entwined in one another.

He's spent the night at Patrick's (well, Ray's) at least once a week, every week, since that first time. They missed last week, obviously, and Ray is overjoyed to see David the next morning.

"Mmmm, I've missed this," David says, with his mouth full, as Ray freshens up everyone's coffees.

"Are you talking about us?" Patrick asks, sitting down next to him and reaching for the warmed maple syrup. "Or Ray's French toast?"

"Um." David swallows and wipes a napkin across his mouth. "All of it? The whole package, really."

"I've missed you, too, David. Patrick will be much better company now." Ray grins at them from across the table. Patrick just looks between the two of them, and David loves his delectable, syrup-flavored, pouty little mouth.

At five months Patrick doesn't get him a gift. David gives Patrick a cactus.

"It doesn't require a lot of attention, just plenty of sun. I thought it would look good in your bedroom window," David says as Patrick carefully lifts the little pot and admires the blue bow tied around the base.

"Thank you, David."

Sometime after that, they stop counting months. David starts counting _'I love you'_ s instead.

**{4. Future Projections}**

Patrick _loves_ him. He said it. He says it. Often. In bed, when they're still tangled together, catching their breath. Or in bed, when they're clean and warm and cozy, with Patrick's arms around David's waist and his face buried in David's hair. In the morning, when they wake up together, or in the morning after they've been apart all night. Not every morning, not every day, not every time they're together, not with words. But he says it with that first smile upon seeing David approach, and the way he winds his arms around David from behind and kisses the side of his neck after closing. When they go out and he slides his hand down the inside of David's wrist and locks their fingers together, and when he drapes his arm across David's shoulders as they sit close in the _Elmdale Art House_. Patrick has always been physically demonstrative, but now... it just feels _more_. And David can't get enough of it.

He feels safe, in Patrick's arms. And more comfortable with another person than he's ever felt before. Here, snuggled into Patrick's side, with the bedspread pulled up to their chests and the quilt Patrick's mother made heavy over their feet, each absorbed in their own tasks.

Patrick has his laptop open, typing with one hand while the other absently brushes fingertips over the back of David's neck. David is scrolling through his phone and making mental Idea Lists. He should write them down, but his journal is all the way on the other side of the room in his bag and he's too comfortable to get up. They've reached the winding down portion of the evening when the night could go either way from here. Patrick could put his laptop aside and pull David closer, mouth over the sensitive skin of his neck and shoulder, slowly peel them both out of their clothes, and lose themselves in sensation for a little while. Or they could continue snuggling until they drift off with sleepy kisses, and that would be great, too. It's a marvel, to be content. David's sure he's never felt it before.

"Oh," he says, suddenly, and Patrick stops typing to look over, his other hand tickling up into David's hair. David leans his head back into the touch.

"Hmm?" Patrick prompts, pinching the short hairs between his fingers and pulling gently.

"Hmm." David's eyes close and Patrick tugs just a tiny bit harder. "Oh. We—we missed the tree-lighting ceremony in Elm Lake." He holds his phone up so Patrick can see the pictures. "Look, it's actually really pretty."

Patrick leans close, his cheek brushing David's ear. "I didn't know there was a tree-lighting ceremony."

"Neither did I. Meghan was there with her chocolates. She's only _just now_ posting pics, like a week later." At Patrick's confused look, David adds, "We follow her."

"We do?"

"The Rose Apothecary instagram, which is us, follows all of our vendors," David explains. Patrick, bless him, deals with their Facebook page. (David hadn't even wanted a Facebook page, but apparently _'It's good for business.'_ ) "Some of them could post less often, or at least attend our seminar on developing your aesthetic, but. It's important to support our business partnerships," he parrots another of Patrick's little tips and Patrick presses his soft smile to David's temple.

"I wonder why they don't do one here? Your mom could bring it up to the council."

"Mm, imagine." David can imagine. He shudders. "Roland would insist on being involved and probably start a fire to burn down half the town."

"Yeaahh, on second thought, maybe don't put that idea into your mother's head." Patrick closes his laptop and moves to put it on the bedside table, letting cold air into the gap in the blankets between them. Emitting a low whine, David hunkers down deeper under the covers until Patrick rolls to face him. He draws the blankets up over their shoulders, letting his arm slip naturally around David to pull him even closer.

"A tree-lighting ceremony could be beautiful, though. You know, with a tree we didn't have to glue together," David says, and Patrick chuckles, laugh lines perfectly framing his mouth.

"Did you ever go? To the big Rockefeller Center one?"

"I don't think I ever did, no. Not to the big event. Too many people, too cold out, too much standing around in the cold with the people. I did go skating there a few times, though."

"You went ice skating?" Patrick asks, and really there's no need to look so incredulous.

"Um, excuse you, I am very graceful on the ice."

"I'd like to see that." His hand starts moving in slow, small circles low on David's back. This evening might become a more exciting kind of night after all.

"Setting up a small rink shouldn't be that difficult, right," David muses, hooking his foot up over Patrick's ankle and slotting his knee between Patrick's legs. "Are there no frozen over ponds around here?"

Patrick's hand slides lower down David's back, coming to rest just below the waistband of his sleep pants. "There's an indoor ice arena in Thornbridge."

"Not the same," David argues, pushing his hips forward. "I want a picturesque winterscape. Imagine a clearing surrounded by snowy pines and soft, rolling white hills, couples skating hand-in-hand, the epitome of small town life."

Patrick clutches at David's hip, pulling him closer still. "You hate small town life." 

"I do not hate small town life." David rears his head back while rolling this body forward into Patrick's at the same time. "There are just certain aspects of this particular town that I disagree with. I've always loved Stars Hollow and would gladly live _there_."

"That's a fictional small town." Patrick's voice is husky, cupping David's ass with bruising fingertips, holding them tight together. He's hard and hot against David's thigh.

"I'm sure I would love your small town," David says, coming back in for Patrick's mouth.

"I'm not from a small town." Patrick's lips catch against his on each word. "I grew up in the suburbs outside of Toronto, which you already know."

"Mmm," David moans into the kiss. "And it's only a five or six hour drive," he teases, but Patrick... blinks, his gaze falters. "You can still take a few days off for a visit. I can handle the store," David offers, not sure what just happened in that tiny blip.

It seems to take a moment of not-quite stuttering for Patrick to find some words. "David, it's never been busier at the store. Which is a good thing." He smiles then, easy and serene. "And it's almost New Year's Eve. Ray will be gone for a couple more days. I want to be here with you."

He leans in and they're kissing again and David lets it go because he wants Patrick to be here with him, too. He wants Patrick to keep touching him, to keep holding him, his searing hot hands all over David's body, and it's definitely the kind of night where Patrick peels him out of his clothes. He disappears beneath the blankets and takes David's cock into his mouth. He slides his hands up David's sides and out along David's arms until his fingers can wrap around David's wrists. He pulls David's hands under the covers with him and presses them onto his own head. Patrick stops all movement, working David's cock with only his tongue, until David understands.

Cradling Patrick's face in one hand, smoothing over the light stubble on his jaw, David pushes down on the top of his head with the other. Patrick moans and David does it again. He wishes he could see, and Patrick must be psychic because he whips the covers off of them, exposing them to the cool evening air. Patrick's cheeks are flushed, his heavy-lidded eyes rolling back in bliss as David fucks his face. It doesn't take long, like this, thrusting his dick up into Patrick's mouth, and Patrick just taking it, moaning and drooling around David's cock, curling his tongue around the head at every chance, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard until David is coming. Coming completely undone. A lightning zing up his spine. Before he's even fully aware again, Patrick is crawling up his body and shoving his tongue into David's mouth. He feels the fast, jerky movement of Patrick's hand on his own cock and tries to help. Patrick spills into his own hand, and David's hand, and all over David's spent cock.

They are sweaty, and messy, and Patrick is heavy on top of him, both out of breath, and David has never been happier in his entire life.

After cleaning up, they snuggle down in bed again, Patrick tucked up behind him, arm wrapped around his waist and face buried in the back of his neck. David is drifting, warm and hazy and loved, when his phone pings. Physically unable to ignore it, David snakes one arm out of the blankets to snatch his phone from the bedside table. Patrick groans something that sounds like either "nooo" or "booo" or both, he's already half asleep, tugging David more firmly into his arms.

It's just Alexis posting more Instagram pictures from Christmas Eve. And one of Ted making a snow angel with a black and white beagle slobbering all over his face. It's cute, but also gross. Ted and Alexis are cute but gross most of the time.

While he's already got the app open, David continues scrolling where he left off. Patrick is softly snoring into his shoulder, but he snorts awake when David gasps.

"Wha? Whaswrong?"

"They had ice skating," David whispers wistfully. He shows Patrick the photos of the small outdoor rink set up with a large, brightly lit Christmas tree in the background. 

Patrick hums softly, breath tickling David's ear. "Looks nice."

"It really does," David marvels. It's not a quaint pond in a whimsical, snowy forest, but it is beautiful. "We'll have to check it out next year."

"Mm."

"I mean." His chest seizes, a sudden, hollow drop into the pit of his stomach that he hasn't felt in... months. "If we're still—if you're—I—"

Patrick squeezes gently, arms wrapped securely around David, and kisses the side of his neck. "We'll definitely go next year."

It feels so good, here in Patrick's arms.

"But, um, but won't you want to go visit your family for the holidays? Since you missed them this year. I'm sure by then we could accommodate for a little vacation time."

There's a pause, still and quiet, and David wonders if Patrick has fallen asleep. Then he nuzzles into David's hair and kisses his neck again.

"Maybe we'll do that, too." Patrick squeezes him one more time, and it covers the way David's breath catches in his throat, a bubble of elation he fights to hold inside. "I want you there, David."

The bubble escapes in a soft, "Okay," and David bites his lip to hide his smile even in the dark. He puts his phone away and rolls in Patrick's arm. With a soft press of lips, he says, "Goodnight, Patrick."

"Night, David. I love you."

"I love you, too."

**{5. Trust & Support}**

Love is more comfortable than David ever imagined it could be. To simply _exist_ with someone else is a novel experience. David is beginning to realize that he doesn't need to hold back with Patrick. He's not afraid, anymore, to let Patrick see him. To let Patrick _know_ him. They've both grown over the past year, grown together and in ways they were never allowed to before.

Obviously, moving in together was too big of a step. Too soon. David had thought he was ready for it, but in that moment, with Ray lurking behind a curtain, he felt relieved that Patrick wasn't. Closet space aside, certainly they wouldn't survive working _and_ living together. Patrick is always going on about maintaining a healthy work/life balance, and David still isn't sure he knows exactly what that means, but he knows he's not ready to see how Patrick handles him all day and night, every night, round the clock.

As it is, Patrick has the day off and David is minding the store on his own today. Although, it's not a surprise when the door opens and he sees Patrick stepping inside, the early morning sun shining all around him. He walks directly to David, leans in, and kisses him.

"Hi."

David drags him back in for another. "Mm-hi."

Patrick's hands curve around David's hips and slide to the small of his back, pulling him even closer for the next kiss. David grins into it, feeling something jab him in the thigh.

"Is that something in your pocket," he asks, raising his eyebrows, "or are you just happy to see me?"

"I'm always happy to see you," Patrick says, because he's always saying sweet, earnest things like that and _meaning_ it. Sometimes David just wants to smother him. "But yes, I do have something in my pocket for you." David makes an approving noise and Patrick slaps his questing hand away from the front of his jeans. "Not that. Well, in addition to that. Here." He digs his hand into his front pocket and pulls out an implausibly large ring of keys. He unclips a smaller ring from the main one and dangles three little keys out to David. "This is for you."

"Is—is this for the safe?"

"No," Patrick says slowly, pursing his lips. "The safe has an electronic keypad combination lock which you said you had memorized."

"Yes." David nods emphatically. "I did. Mmhmm. I have memorized it. It's your birthday." And that reminds David that he has some phone calls to make.

Patrick stares at him, the hand dangling the keys dropping to his side. "It's nobody's birthday. You should never use a birthday, that's password one-oh-one."

"Okay! Well, we didn't all go to business school." David's mind is elsewhere, making a mental list of numbers to track down.

Patrick shakes his head, laughter teasing at the corners of his lips. He dangles the keys between them again. "It's for the apartment, David."

"Oh, so now you do want my help with your housewarming party." Stepping around Patrick, actively not touching the keys, David starts refolding the organic wool sweaters.

"Nope. I'm still good. I just want you to have a key." Patrick follows and holds the keys up for him again. "Here, this one's for the exterior door, this one's the apartment door, and this one is for the storage locker in the basement," he explains, ticking each key over the ring as he goes. "I've got some of my camping gear in there, and my baseball equipment will go in there during the off-season, but if you need to store anything there's still space."

Straightening the last sweater, making sure all the lines are nice and neat, David says, "Well, I don't really have things that would go in a storage locker." He turns to Patrick and hesitantly holds out his hand. "But, thank you."

"You are welcome, David," Patrick says, gently setting the keys onto David's palm, letting his touch linger. David closes his eyes as Patrick kisses him again, welcome and wanted.

"Mmkay," David says, pulling away after a long moment, "and I also have keys for you." He retrieves the keys to the Lincoln and drops them into Patrick's hand. "Have so much fun shopping without me."

"I'm mostly just picking stuff up that we already shopped for. Are you sure your parents won't mind if I use their car? I just don't have the trunk space."

David looks him up and down, eyes lingering on his ass. "I disagree."

Patrick's ears turn red, his cheeks a paler rosy pink, but his smile is wide and pleased. "This might take all day, so just—" He brushes his lips across David's cheek up to his ear. "Come over. After you close."

Standing outside Patrick's apartment door, big **5** staring him in the face — but third floor apartment five, not second floor five; the first floor doesn't even have a five, who numbers apartments like this? Shaking his hand out, David hesitates. Should he knock? He'd used his key for the outer door, but Patrick is home, he's in there right now, David can hear soft music playing and intermittent clunking noises. Patrick might have his hands full and answering the door would be inconvenient. But he might also be dancing around naked in his own place and one shouldn't just barge in. (Although David would definitely like to see that.)

It's decided for him when the ice cream container starts leaking in the grocery bag hanging from his arm. David knocks insistently on the door with his elbow while simultaneously trying to keep melted ice cream from spilling all over him or the carpet. It takes a minute but Patrick finally opens the door.

"Hey," he says in greeting. "Why didn't you use your key?"

"Um." David holds up the soggy bag in answer. Patrick steps aside so he can hurry past and drop the whole thing into the sink. While washing his hands, he says, "The key is in my pocket if you wanna reach in there and get it for me."

"You're already in the door, so..." Patrick tips his head, lips curving in that way they do, and the teasing is tempered by the hand he places on David's hip and the way he tugs, just so, to bring their mouths together. "You brought ice cream."

David shrugs. "Just to... commemorate our first night in your new place. If—I mean, if we—if it's ready, that is."

"And you got pistachio," Patrick says, looking over David's shoulder into the sink.

"It's your favorite."

"It is. Thank you." Patrick kisses him again. "You just missed Sam and Erin—"

"The baseball lesbians," David interjects. He is trying to get to know Patrick's sports friends. Patrick just seems to only hang out with them when there are sports things involved, so David hasn't spent too much time with them. But those are the types of phone numbers he'll be needing to make his guest list. If he could get his hands on Patrick's housewarming guest list, it would make life so much easier.

"Yes, Sam and Erin from my baseball team. There's pizza left." Patrick gestures to the new dining table littered with pizza boxes and empty beer bottles. "I got one just for you. Your favorite."

"Ooh." David shimmies his shoulders at that. "And did we have a little pre-housewarming party party?" He picks up two empty bottles and waggles them at Patrick.

"Sam has a pick-up truck. We used it for the bigger items. They helped me get everything in here and put everything together."

"That was very generous of them."

"Yeah, well. I fed them, bought them beer, and I promised to help them clean out their gutters next week in exchange, but I now have a basically fully-furnished apartment." Patrick spreads his arms out, a proud smile on his face, and David must admit that there is definitely furniture in here now.

"Oh," he says, drifting through the living area, "so you went with this sofa?"

"It's the one we picked. I thought you liked it." Patrick's arms fall, along with his proud little smile.

"Yes, I do. I do. Mmhmm." He nods, turning in a circle on the spot. "It's just that the _Mies van der Rohe_ would have looked stylish with the exposed brick."

"David, the _Mies van der Rohe_ was twelve thousand dollars. If I had twelve thousand dollars, I could buy a new car."

"What sort of _new_ car, though."

"We measured carefully," Patrick says, gesturing to their surroundings, "this is the sofa that fit best in our space."

David closes his eyes, biting his bottom lip. _Our space._ He doesn't live here, but Patrick gave him keys. Patrick asked his opinion on the furniture. Patrick told him he should feel comfortable here.

"No, you're right," David says, sidling up to Patrick again and dancing his fingers up Patrick's arms. "It's cute and compact." He leans close and whispers, "Those are things that I like."

Now Patrick's smile returns, his whole face softens, and he slides his hands onto David's hips. "You're still going to help me decorate, right? Since I have terrible taste."

The furniture is scattered in a haphazard fashion, and the walls are still mostly bare, but the apartment is starting to look like someone lives in it now. That someone is _Patrick_ and it should look like Patrick.

"You like me," David says, resting his hands on Patrick's shoulders and squeezing gently, "so it's not that terrible."

"I do like you." Patrick winds his arms around David, pulling their bodies flush together. "And I would very much like it if you stayed tonight."

"Well, if you insist." David curls his fingers around the back of Patrick's neck, smiling into a kiss.

After... a while, Patrick pulls back and mumbles, "Your ice cream is melting."

"It's really your ice cream," David replies, reluctantly letting Patrick go to take care of it. He surveys the rest of the apartment, then grins. "And that—" he points to the far wall "—is your new bed." It's only half-made up with fitted sheet and pillows, no other bedding, but David sits right down on the edge to test it out.

"Yep." Patrick's looking over his shoulder, busy at the sink. "Sam helped me pick it out and put it together." He wipes the ice cream carton down and stashes it in the freezer before washing his hands. "She said it's—very sturdy." He's intently drying his hands with a blue tea towel, the red of his cheeks practically glowing and lighting up the whole room.

"Oh, yeah?" David waits until Patrick is looking at him. He scoots to the middle of the bed, lies back on the pillows, and reaches behind his head to wrap his hands around the bars of the headboard. "How sturdy?"

Patrick tosses the towel behind him, stalking across the apartment toward the bed. David laughs as Patrick crawls on top of him, but he keeps his hands right where they are.

After the housewarming party, after David sobers up and has a few days to think about it, he... wonders. About things. About Patrick, and men. About Patrick finally having his own space. David has used his key exactly once, and that was because Patrick's hands were full, but he's been spending almost every night at Patrick's place for the last couple of weeks. Patrick doesn't say anything about it, seems to genuinely love having David there. David not only has a side of the bed, but he has a side of the sofa when they watch movies together on Patrick's laptop. He has a shelf (more like three shelves) in the bathroom. He has space for some of his clothes. Patrick bought a cedar chest specifically for David's knits.

But.

What if Patrick not being ready to move in together wasn't just about timing and maintaining their own space? What if David is merely a stepping stone for Patrick? He is the first man that Patrick has ever... anythinged. Kissed. Fucked. Really expressed any interest in (that David knows of) and now that Patrick is so comfortable here, and with himself, surely he'd want to... explore.

So, when petite, peppy Ken appears, it feels like the perfect opportunity.

It's a misstep.

David didn't regret it until talking with Alexis, but he can admit, only in his own head, that she'd made some very good points. He hadn't thought it through. He hadn't thought it an actual risk. Ken was cute, but not _that_ cute, and David has been in open relationships before. He didn't always love it, but then he didn't love any of those people, either. He _loves_ Patrick. He cannot envision a future without Patrick.

That night, Patrick kisses him from the second they step through the door, all the way across the apartment, and as they tumble together onto the bed, kicking off shoes and scattering clothes along the way.

"David, David," Patrick pants between kisses, urging him on, but David takes his time. He gets Patrick ready thoroughly, slowly, using his fingers and his tongue. He buries his face in Patrick's ass until his legs are trembling around David's shoulders. When David finally, _finally_ enters him, he does it in one smooth, fast motion and Patrick stares up at him, wide-eyed, hanging onto the bars of the headboard so tightly his knuckles bleach white. This bed really was an excellent purchase.

Lying there afterward, with their legs all tangled up together, David can't stop the words from slipping out. "Thinking about Ken?"

Patrick is staring up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling heavily with each labored breath. He blinks, his lips curving at the corners. "Who?"

"Mm." David shifts onto his side a little and rubs his cheek against Patrick's shoulder. "Good answer."

He can feel Patrick shaking his head. A hand comes up to run blunt fingers through David's hair and slide around to cup his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across his cheekbone.

"Only thinking about you, David."

He turns his head, bites gently at that tender thumb, lets Patrick push it slowly into his mouth, curls his tongue around it, before pulling back to look into his eyes. "So you weren't at all tempted by tight jeans and an even tighter Polo?"

"No," Patrick says, simply, honestly, and David believes him. He props himself up on his elbow, still leaning into Patrick, but leaving enough space to talk.

"It's okay, you know," he says, "to want other people."

"I just want you, David."

And David believes that, too. He tips his head back, closing his eyes; he knows it deep inside himself that Patrick means it, that Patrick feels this, too.

"But you can—" he starts, looking back down at Patrick. "You're _going_ to be attracted to... to men. It's _good_. It's okay. I'm not—" He takes a quick breath, because he finds he really means this, too. "I'm not jealous. It's okay to express that. You can—you can tell me."

The slow smile that lifts Patrick's lips is sweet, and fond, and just beautiful. "Thank you, David. I know that." He reaches up to cradle David's face and draw him down into a kiss.

"I wasn't, though," Patrick adds, a moment later. "Attracted to him. Not really. It was just... it felt, I don't know. Nice. A guy flirting with me." He shrugs, the movement awkward while lying down, and David loves him so much. "Being seen, by a man, as... I don't know. It was just new."

 _Being seen._ Yes, David knows that feeling, and it's still so new for Patrick. Being out, being comfortable, being himself and having that recognized. David loves receiving compliments. He pretends they don't affect him, like he couldn't care either way, or at least that's the vibe he tries to put out there. But it's a confidence boost every time. It makes him feel good about himself. Patrick... Patrick projects an air of confidence so well that David had thought him cocky when they'd first met. But give him one compliment and his face goes bright red, he averts his eyes, does his best to deflect attention from himself. It's almost like he's not accustomed to anyone admiring him. And David cannot understand why this man hasn't been drowning in compliments all his life.

"Well, he was _very_ into you," David says, letting his smile run wild. "Couldn't even see anyone else in the room. Practically throwing himself at you right in front of your boyfriend."

"I don't think he knew that. And people flirt with you all the time."

"Just not the woman asking about the soap."

"No, not her." Patrick smirks up at him, then adds, "But that guy last month who stopped in 'for a minute' and ended up talking with you for over an hour?" He actually makes air quotes with his fingers. David legitimately does not remember a guy. Patrick huffs, rolling his eyes. "He was wearing that brown cordu—"

"Corduroy jacket," David finishes with him, recalling the hideous thing now. "Mhm, yes. I believe his name was _I have no idea_ because my senses were overwhelmed by the truly vomitous shades of chartreuse that he was wearing. Also, I believe he was there searching for a gift for his wife." He raises a pointed eyebrow at Patrick, who blushes and looks down.

"Oh."

"You weren't... were _you_ jealous of the disheveled English professor?" David asks, delighted.

Patrick's mouth opens and closes a couple of times, his head shaking minutely, and finally he just says, "No."

"You were!" David gasps, gratified, and Patrick rolls his eyes, pushing at David's shoulder. "You were just stewing in your little buttoned-up jealousy, watching us from across the room."

"David," Patrick laughs, unable to keep his stern face. "I told you, I watch people flirt with you all the time!"

"It's not all the time," David protests, because it isn't. He definitely flirts less these days.

"It's a lot of the time."

"Well, I haven't noticed." David leans in closer. "But I notice people noticing you," he says, touching his forehead to Patrick's. "Because you are cute." He kisses Patrick's nose. "And sexy." He kisses Patrick's reddening cheek. "And beautiful." He stops Patrick from turning his face away, cups his jaw in one hand, and kisses his full, pink lips. When he pulls back, Patrick is staring up at him.

"You weren't actually worried tonight. Right?" he asks, sliding his hand around David's shoulder and down his bare back.

David thinks about what Alexis said — _'If a cute guy that walks into your store is enough to unravel your whole relationship...'_ — and the Alexis-induced panic that had clawed its way through his insides earlier.

"No more than you were about me running away with Ted," he says, and even if that wasn't entirely true earlier, it is now.

"You would have been a wonderful dog groomer," Patrick says, pulling him back down into a kiss.

No, he's not worried. He doesn't live in fear that someday Patrick will decide he's not worth all this. He believes Patrick will do all he can to never hurt him.

At the end of this exhausting day, after an exhausting week, David just wants to curl up with Patrick and maybe fall asleep watching a movie. He's also never throwing a surprise party again.

Today started with Patrick waking him up _way_ too early so they could have breakfast with the Brewers, which was actually very nice. They are sweet and kind and exactly the kind of people who could create Patrick. David had thought it might be awkward, but they were both so enthusiastic, asking about everything, letting Patrick tell them about everything. David knows it will take more than one day, one visit, to fix Patrick's relationship with his parents, and their communication issues (David should know; he's still working on it with himself and his own family), but it was a great start. For all of them. All of them including David, because the Brewers — Marcy and Clint — had made it very clear that he is welcome into their family.

After breakfast, they gave Patrick's parents a tour of the store, and Marcy insisted on buying gifts for all of her sisters and most of Patrick's numerous cousins. They had to get back on the road for home this afternoon, so David only got to say a brief goodbye. Patrick claimed he needed to run some errands (although David thinks he just needed some time alone after all of that) leaving David to close up by himself, as well.

Now, he fits his key into Patrick's apartment door, tired and hungry and only half expecting Patrick to be waiting when he enters.

The lights are low, flickering candles scattered across the kitchen counters and all around the fireplace. The table is set for two, and at the center is a tall glass vase with two dozen long-stem roses. It's cliché, but Patrick knows him so well. David actually, truly loves roses. They are iconic and classic for a reason.

Patrick is standing by the table, his eyes bright in the candlelight. He looks freshly showered, but instead of his usual comfy lounging-around-the-house sweats, he is dressed in a new pair of jeans and a soft, navy sweater. He clasps his hands in front of him then tucks them deep into his pockets.

"Hey, welcome home," he says with a quick smile, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"What's all this?" David asks, the handles of his bag slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor at his side.

Patrick comes forward, taking David's hands. "You did something incredible for me yesterday. Now it's my turn."

David looks around, smells the food that Patrick must have been cooking, the candles, the flowers. He shakes his head. "It was your birthday."

"I'm not talking about the party." Patrick leads him over to sit facing each other on the sofa, never letting go of his hands. "You had every right to be angry with me—" 

"I wasn't angry," David assures him.

"I know." Patrick nods, his smile small and his eyes so big. "Because you're amazing. You're amazing and I love you so much." He clutches David's hands to his chest. "But you had every right to be. I should have told you. I _know_ that. I know—I know why I didn't, but it seems wrong now. It was wrong. I should have known you would understand. I never wanted you to think that I was hiding you, David, it was never about that—"

"Patrick." David squeezes his hands back. "I know." He brings Patrick's hands to his lips, places a kiss on his knuckles. "I know that it wasn't about me."

"But it was," Patrick says, looking down into his lap. "I didn't want you to know that I hadn't told them yet. I didn't want you to think I was keeping us a secret."

"You didn't want to hurt me."

"I never want to hurt you."

"And you didn't. I promise." He scoots closer on the sofa, sliding his hand up Patrick's arm to his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "I mean, sure, some things could have been avoided if you had talked to me."

Patrick huffs a tiny laugh. "I think a lot of things in my life could have been avoided if I had talked to someone."

"True," David says, rubbing Patrick's shoulder, "but then you might not have ended up here."

"Also true." Patrick lays his head against David's hand. "And I'm so happy I ended up here, David." He moves then, into David's space, wraps his arms around David's waist and just envelops him in warmth. "You are the best person I've ever known."

David leans back, bringing Patrick with him and holding him there against his chest. He has never loved anyone this much. He's never _trusted_ anyone this much. He trusts Patrick with his life and with his heart and he never wants to let go.

**{+1. Profit!}**

"And now here he is, the love of my life, standing in front of me. And this just felt like the perfect place to ask you to marry me."

"Are—are you sure?" he asks. He has to ask.

"Easiest decision of my life."

_Easiest decision of my life!_

"Yes! It's a yes!"

Patrick goes back down on one knee to slip each of the rings onto David's fingers. He tugs at David's hand, and David falls willingly into Patrick's open arms, kisses every inch of Patrick's face, stretches out on the blanket and drags Patrick on top of him. Kissing and crying should be a disgusting combination, but David doesn't even care.

Well, he cares a little. He dabs at his eyes with the sleeve of Patrick's hoodie, holding his phone out to find the perfect angle for the perfect _'I said yes!'_ photo.

"Here," Patrick says, reaching into the nearest backpack and retrieving a few napkins.

Napkins he remembered, but not bandages. Or plates. Or cups. They feed each other cheese and drink champagne straight from the bottle. David continues trying to get the best picture; the light is perfect, but his eyes keep blurring. Patrick stacks the backpacks up behind him as a pillow. He wraps his arms around David's middle and hooks his chin over David's shoulder so they can both gaze out at the view.

"It is beautiful," David says. "This is the perfect place."

Patrick nods, his cheek rasping against David's. "I wish we could just get married up here."

 _Just get married._ They are going to get married! A laugh bubbles out of him.

"Yes," David says, "we'll tell everyone we're going on a picnic and then make them carry us up a mountain."

"I didn't make you carry me. You insisted."

David turns his head just enough to look at Patrick. "But you're glad I did, now, aren't you?"

Patrick's smile softens, his eyes crinkle at the corners. He hugs David more tightly, kisses the side of his neck, and whispers, "I'm very glad you did, David."

Cozy and warm and safe in Patrick's arms, David smiles out at this little piece of the world they've found for themselves.

"And I'm very glad you decided to invest in my business, Patrick."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RQ, Peeps, DoubleL27, ThisIsNotNothing, and all my Rosebuddies! You're the best. Special thanks to Didi for the Perez Hilton line. Nothing I could come up with was that funny and gross. 
> 
> [The Mies van der Rohe](https://theexchangeint.com/products/ludwig-mies-van-der-rohe-sofa-for-knoll-1960s)


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